


Sedated

by fortheloveoflestrade



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: I don't know, I wrote this forever ago, M/M, Mal's canon death, Promise, inspired by Hozier, no other ones, pre-movie?, this is just angsty smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:37:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5812306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortheloveoflestrade/pseuds/fortheloveoflestrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sedated we're nursing on a poison that never stung/Our teeth and lungs are lined with the scum of it/Somewhere for this, death and guns/We are deaf, we are numb/Free and young and we can feel none of it</p>
<p>Darlin', don't you, stand there watching, won't you/Come and save me from it/Darlin', don't you, join in, you're supposed to/Drag me away from it</p>
<p>Any way to distract and sedate/Adding shadows to the walls of the cave"</p>
<p>Arthur and Eames, post-Mal's funeral. Arthur's taking it harder than Eames expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sedated

The funeral is lovely. Elegant and tasteful with just a little flash, just how Mal would’ve wanted it. Just like Mal. 

Many big names in dreamsharing make appearances, giving their condolences, checking in on Dom. 

Eames had only met Mal on three occasions: the job when Dom Cobb and his new fiancée had introduced him to Arthur, at Dom and Mal’s wedding, and the last time on a job about a year ago.

So, of course, he came to pay his respects. He had known Mal enough to justify his being here, but not enough that he cowered away from facing it. 

Though, clearly, some were not handling it as well. Dom, for one, but that’s expected. Less expected to Eames, is Arthur.

Always at Dom’s side is Arthur, and it was never more important than today. But Arthur didn’t look good. His eyes are dark, tired, like he hadn’t slept at all. His clothes are impeccable, as usual, but his hands shake minutely. Not enough for anyone to notice but Eames, who watches Arthur much more than he’d ever admit. 

The service comes to a close. Everyone makes their way out, stopping to shake hands with Dom and Mal’s parents. 

Eames hangs back, watching Arthur watch Cobb. Eames slips out with the last of the crowd, and waits in front of the church.

Mal’s parents walk out first, Arthur and Cobb not far behind them. Arthur and Dom exchange a few words, embrace, then Dom leaves with his in-laws. 

Arthur watches them go, not looking at Eames waiting for him. Without turning back, Arthur asks, “Drink?”

Eames steps up beside him. Softly, he replies, “Of course.” 

\---

The two of them get pretty drunk, but Arthur just keeps drinking. Eames still worries, even in his inebriated state, but rather than aggravate Arthur by denying him his right to get shit-faced, he suggests a change in location.

“Fine,” Arthur says curtly, “my room is upstairs.”

If Eames was slightly less drunk, he would make a witty but harmless remark about Arthur inviting him to his room. If he was slightly more drunk, he’d probably already have kissed Arthur senseless for even deigning to drink with him. But he felt as if both of those may only make things worse, for himself more than Arthur. 

Arthur had the bartender refill his drink before they stepped away from the bar and headed into the hotel lobby. Arthur’s gait was surprisingly stable for as much alcohol as he had ingested in the last few hours, but Eames wasn’t complaining. It meant he didn’t have to carry Arthur upstairs, which could also complicate things.

Arthur presses the button to call the elevator and turns to Eames. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know,” he says, his words slurring only slightly. 

For a moment, Eames even thinks it’s cute.

“I know,” he replies. “And I’m not. I just thought maybe you’d like company, that’s all.”

Arthur looks down at his feet.

“But if you’d rather wallow in your single malt alone, I’d understand.”

The elevator dings, the doors slide open, and Arthur gestures to it. “After you,” he says.

Eames nods.

The elevator ride passes in somewhat comfortable silence, and it takes them only a minute more to find Arthur’s room and get inside. 

The door shuts behind them and Arthur drains his glass, heading directly to the room’s fully restocked minibar.

“I hate to be the fun police, but I think maybe you should hold off for a little while. Alcohol poisoning could put a bit of a damper on the evening.”

Arthur stands, wobbles only slightly before locking eyes on Eames. “You planning on something special?”

“No, I just wouldn’t want you to ruin your lovely suit, or this lovely hotel room. Think of the maids, Arthur. Think of the _waistcoat_.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, and then presses them shut. Clearly a mistake. He leaves his empty glass on top of the mini-fridge and walks off in the direction of the bedroom, leaving Eames in the front room to settle himself on the couch with the television.

“No porn,” Arthur calls, partially muffled. 

“No promises,” Eames lies. He gets bored of channel-surfing and leaves it on some high-end cooking show, with the volume turned down.

Arthur returns, now in a white undershirt and flannel sleep pants.

“Is that flannel?” Eames asks.

“I’m not answering stupid questions, Eames. I’m not that drunk.”

“It was a legitimate question, pet. I was making sure I’m not that drunk.”

Arthur scoffs. Eames turns back to the TV. 

Arthur comes around and drops himself at the other end of the couch, letting his head fall back with a sigh.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Absolutely not,” Arthur drones.

Eames nods.

“This show is ridiculous,” Arthur says.

“You can change it if you want. Or turn it off, it is your room.”

The screen goes black.

Arthur slides a leg over Eames, effectively straddling him.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“Don’t talk,” Arthur murmurs, biting at Eames’ lower lip.

Everything in Eames' head is screaming that they should stop, except the parts that are freaking out because— _holy God_ —Arthur is kissing him. “Arthur, I don’t think—“

“Then don’t think,” he growls, “just shut up and kiss me.”

_Shit._

After twenty minutes of making out on the couch—during which time Arthur loses his shirt and Eames loses his jacket, tie, and gets the top few buttons of his shirt open—Arthur goes for Eames’ belt.

Eames stills his hands. “Okay, now that’s definitely not a good idea.”

“Why not?” Arthur asks, swirling his tongue over Eames’ collarbone.

“Because you are very drunk, I am also drunk, and as I can recall you don’t like me very much.”

Arthur sits up. “Who said that?”

“No one said it, Arthur, it was implied.”

“Well, you’re wrong. I don’t hate you, Eames.” Arthur moves his hands up to grip the back of the couch. “I mean, sometimes you’re annoying and you try and flirt with me while I’m working, but—“

Eames cuts him off, capturing his mouth again. “I like you, too, darling,” Eames whispers.

The kissing gets heated all over again, until Arthur breaks away and growls, “Bed. Now."

Eames is too far gone to argue, to do anything except follow.

\---

Arthur divests Eames of the rest of his clothes and pushes his naked body down on the mattress. 

Eames feels a momentary need to check his totem, which is in the pocket of his trousers on the floor, but swiftly forgets when Arthur puts his mouth on Eames’ cock.

“Fuck me,” he whispers.

Arthur sits up. “Actually, I was hoping for the other way around,” he teases. From the pocket of his flannel pants he produces a condom and packet of lube.

“Plotting against me, were you?” Eames asks, voice rough with arousal.

“Shut up,” Arthur says, smirking. He tosses the lube at Eames, kicking off his pants and opening the foil on the condom. 

The wrapper disappears and Arthur takes hold of Eames, rolling the latex down his length. He takes a few experimental strokes before Eames is saying, “Might want to save some of that, love.”

Eames takes hold of Arthur’s waist and pulls him down onto the bed, their legs tangled together and their hips aligning.

Arthur snatches the lube away from Eames and licks a stripe up his pectoral. Eames shivers, then takes the packet back and tears it open.

Arthur rolls onto his stomach, arching his ass into the air a little. Eames takes his first finger, slick, and presses gently into Arthur.

Arthur lays flat, leaning on his arms, relaxing around Eames inside him. Eames works his finger until he can slip in a second, and then a third. Arthur’s breathing hitches, and Eames presses a kiss to the small of his back. “Alright?”

Arthur moans in response.

Eames withdraws his hand, sets two pillows against the headboard, and leans back into them. “Come here,” he says to Arthur.

Arthur climbs up and straddles him again, positioning them together, and then sinks down. 

Eames’ eyes go wide, his hands on Arthur’s hips, and Arthur leans forward to kiss Eames’ open mouth. He slides his tongue against Eames’ as he lifts up and comes down again. Eames snaps into action, pushing his hips up into Arthur. Arthur whimpers into Eames’ mouth, and Eames’ fingers tighten around his torso.

They start moving again, mouths and hips speeding up, meeting again and again. 

Eames pushes up, lifting Arthur who breathes raggedly, “There, oh, right there.”

Eames leans Arthur back a little, mouth leaving his to find one of Arthur’s nipples. He pushes up again, and Arthur moans, louder now. “Fuck,” he says.

Eames keeps hitting that spot, and Arthur gets louder, until he’s just short of shouting. In a moment, without separating, Eames has Arthur on his back and is driving into him, biting at his shoulder, hand on his cock between them. Arthur’s words start to hitch, oh. God. Eames. There. Harder. There. There! Eames! Eames!

Arthur clenches around Eames, and Eames keeps pushing, keeps stroking, letting Arthur ride out his orgasm until his follows, making him shake and bite Arthur’s shoulder a little too hard. 

He tries to soothe the bite with his tongue while they come down, and Arthur just keeps running his hands up and down Eames’ back.

Arthur turns his head toward Eames, “Hey.” Eames meets his eyes for a moment, and then their mouths are roughly at each other. Arthur rolls his hips and Eames jolts, causing them both to shiver, still sensitive.

“I’m sorry,” Eames whispers. Arthur doesn’t know what for.

\---

In the morning, Arthur wakes cold. No Eames wrapped around him, like when he fell asleep. He turns his head to find the other side of the bed empty, and a note on the bedside table addressed to him. 

“I’m sorry,” it reads, “but I don’t regret last night. If you’re interested, I’m at the Royale, room 259. Checkout is 12. Maybe I’ll see you around. E”

The clock next to the note says it’s 11:37. 

\---

Arthur makes it across town in 17 minutes. He pulls up just as Eames is walking out the doors. “Get in,” he says. 

Eames looks wary, but opens the door and slides in. Arthur grabs him and pulls Eames’ mouth to his. “Don’t do that again,” Arthur says.

“No promises,” Eames lies.


End file.
